


Fire and Stars

by DHW



Series: Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Daydreaming, Episode: s03e20 Improbable Cause, M/M, One Shot, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: Garak daydreams about the future.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749682
Comments: 26
Kudos: 99





	Fire and Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syaunei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/gifts).



> Inspired by, franky, the most obscene SFW [GIF](https://66.media.tumblr.com/5ebac3ffb6be1087bad91301b9caf8cd/34b11e8ee4220fbb-61/s500x750/89ffba3b8c4b8202b049525e76081e8ce35462e6.gifv) I’ve ever seen, kindly brought to my attention by Syaunei. 
> 
> So here is something mildly obscene to accompany it. ;D

  
  


It had begun innocently enough. 

A moment here. A daydream there. The occasional ‘what if?’ to pass the time between one stitch and the next. 

The pair of them sharing yet another lunch. Perhaps, on occasion, a dinner. Tastefully teasing one another over Tarkalean tea, too wrapped up in the cut and thrust of the argument to notice the pot had grown cold. The doctor smiling fondly, face as striking as the splash of blue across his shoulders, elegant hands waving as he spoke. Comfortable in his company. The culmination of the closest thing Garak had come to companionship in years. 

Just safe little fantasies of what might have been. What might still come to be, should the stars ever satisfactorily align. 

At least, that was how it had begun. 

He’d been a fool not to notice the change sooner. Not to have put a stop to it the moment his mind had strayed into unsafe territory, pulling the rest of his body along with it. It had happened before, back before his exile. He had felt the thin strings of desire beginning to pull at the edges of his thoughts then, too. The whisper of intimacy. The suggestion of something deeper, something dangerous, hiding in the shadows. 

Sex.

The regnar in the room, almost invisible, moving with the winds of change. Insinuating itself into the pauses and idle moments in which his thoughts had a tendency to wander.

Instead of the doctor’s mind, a safe topic on which to focus, Garak often found himself thinking of his body. The long, elegant lines of it. The play of his muscles beneath the fabric of his uniform. The jut of his collarbone, glimpses of which he had caught here and there over the years via asymmetric collars and unzipped fatigues. The doctor’s shoulders were a touch narrower than a Cardassian would typically consider attractive, but had a pleasing slope to them that framed the delicate sweep of his neck to perfection. Sharp cheekbones. A sharper jaw. And hair that begged for the rake of reptilian fingers through the silky strands. 

_His fingers._

It was often how such thoughts began. His hands in the doctor's hair, followed by lascivious imaginings in which his fingers ultimately strayed into pastures new. In which they tugged and stroked and caressed. Pushed into tight, slick spaces, and teased filthy sounds from the doctor's lips. Curled around him, inside him. Made him shake with need, and later, with the white-hot shock of completion.

It was an all-too-frequent preoccupation of his. A bad habit, albeit one he had no intention of trying to break. 

Even now, in the Infirmary, the ache of his recently healed wounds still rattling around his skull, he pictured the doctor naked upon silk sheets, a sheen to his skin as sweat began to bead across his body. Then supine upon the dark weave of the carpet in his quarters. Tied to a chair. Tied to his bed. Hot and wet as they bathed together, water pouring in waves over the lip of the bath and onto the tiles as they moved with both rhythm and purpose. Heavy in his lap. Writhing beneath him. Gasping. Moaning. Begging for anything. _Everything_. For just that bit more, confident that he would be given it with little in the way of hesitation. 

Garak had little doubt that the doctor would be as demanding a lover as he was a conversationalist. A sparring partner in all senses. The challenge as they moved into territories hitherto unexplored as much a part of the thrill as the chase. 

“Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?” said the doctor. 

“No.”

Which, for once, was the truth.

After a moment, the doctor spoke again. Told him a story. A morality tale, to which Garak was only half listening, mind instead preoccupied with the thought of the doctor pressed against the upright of the console, his cloth-covered back as expressive as his face as it tensed and flexed. As he took everything given to him, PADD clattering to the floor as his fingers sought purchase on the instrument panels. Clawed across the smooth glass. Twined with Garak’s own. 

It was a tantalising image. Vibrant in his mind’s eye, accompanied by the ghosts of the sounds the doctor would no doubt make, and the shadow of his scent, hints of which he had caught before. Warm, like cinnamon and Lakarian milfoil, with an undercurrent of sex that made the ridges of his neck burn. 

That made him think of afternoons spent under the hot Cardassian sun, luxuriating in the sand with only his own hands for company and thoughts of lovers he had yet to meet. 

He would take the doctor there, one day, he promised himself. To Cardassia Prime. And they would sit, warm and content in the evening air, exploring each others’ minds. Then, later, when night had fallen and the three moons were round and high in the sky, exploring each others’ bodies with their mouths and fingers and tongues. Learning the topography of each alien plane and curve. Crying their pleasure out to the stars they had both once called home, moans echoing across the desert.

Not today. 

Or tomorrow. 

But one day. In the future he hoped was still waiting for him. They would go to Cardassia and live in a house that looked out over the city walls. Share a bed. Share secrets. Share the same fate; one where no wolves were waiting at their door.

The doctor paused in his tale, an almost expectant air about him.

“Charming story,” Garak said, his mind elsewhere. 

And it was.

For the moment, at least.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If anyone fancies sharing other, equally delightful GIFs, my inbox is always open... ;D
> 
> (You can also find me on Tumblr @damnhardwork, if that's more your jam)


End file.
